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Lance wakes with a start. He can't remember dreaming, but he is drenched in cold sweat and his heart is pounding. Maybe, he thinks, because his nightmare is not over.
The room he have spent the last two weeks in is large and decorated like something out of a teen tv-show with a high ceiling and giant flatscreen-tv and queen size bed, but it entirely lacks windows. The closest thing he gets to sunshine is the automatic dimmer turning on each morning to signify the start of a new day. There is two doors, one leading to a small bathroom and one permanently locked, leading out. It opens four times a day for a large man to bring him food and then immediately leave after, every other day bringing newly washed or getting the laundry. All attempts at using this opening to escape have so far been met with failure and a mocking scoff. Other than that, Lance have not gotten a single sound out of him. He wonders if all omega's in Zarkon's pack lives like this, or if he is considered especially high risk.
To think that just two weeks ago, he would have been at school, content, living independently and part of the best pack he could ever dream of. Well, ex-pack now he guess. How quickly things can change. He wonders if anyone even called the school and his landlord or if they think he just disappeared. He wonder if his mother have been notified, or if she just think he is too busy to answer the phone lately.
He slowly forces himself out of bed, stretching his legs. He is just in his underwear, and the floor is cold against his feet. Usually he'd just stay under the covers, warmed by the luxurious fluffiness of his blanket, but the dried sweat itches on his skin and makes him feel gross. He got a wardrobe filled with expensive clothes that have probably not been used even once, but most of it is either for a formal event or revealing in a way that reminds him too much of where he is. It's what you'd see beautiful omegas on tv wear, everyone knowing they were just there as arm candy to the kind of rich, sleazy looking alphas that took everything they wanted without asking.
It's everything he never wanted to be.
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When he was just a little kid, way before presenting, his mother had told him that stereotyping was dangerous and no matter what someone looked like, their gender or sex or ethnicity, he should never think that someone isn't more underneath that. That they might be different on the outside, but if you went into the mind and into the heart of people, they were still always people. And people were the most dangerous of all - because they had the capacity to be good and evil in the same breath.
He lived by this, as a kid and even more when he presented as an omega in his first year of high school, being forced to develop thick skin from one week to the next. Of course he was aware that from society's point of view he pulled the short stick – his sex making him submissive, weak and willing to jump in bed with just about anyone. He needed to be protected and cared for, like a child.
But he was never held down by that stereotype, making sure to live just the free life he wanted, independent and strong. Sure, heats were pretty annoying to say the least and every now and then there'd be a cocky alpha acting as if they could walk right over him, but he could deal with that because in the end he loved who he was, he loved how his friends and family would hug him close after a long day and just breath in his smell and immediately relax, he loved that he never needed to buy perfumes because he could turn heads if he just released a little bit of pheromones, he loved the fact that his body was capable of creating life.
He found an amazing pack that wanted him there not because of what he was but because of who he was, even though it felt hard to believe sometimes that such incredible people would waste their time of day on him of all people. And even though he was an unclaimed omega they would never even think to try to command him, control him or tell him he couldn't do something or force him into a relationship. They trusted his word as much as that of any member of the group. Sure they had a leader, technically, but they were all equals.
And maybe if he hadn't been just so set on not taking orders and having his freedom, if he had listened to what they had said or accepted the offer to move in with them, maybe he would still be there with them.
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The knock on his door makes him jump. It's the first time someone have not barged right in.
“H-hello?” His voice is weak and hoarse from unuse, the words feeling almost unfamiliar on his lips. The door open and his heart sinks when he see who it is.
“How are you adapting to your new home?” Zarkon steps in slowly like he is wanting to be seen, tall and naturally powerful despite the relaxed set of his shoulders. He watches Lance with that intense look he had once mistaken for interest, now aware are just calculating his every move like a predator with a prey.
“Better if I had had any choice in the matter.” There is no way to keep the spite out of his voice, and he doesn't try. His fingers dig into the blanket on his bed, almost hurting. Zarkon is moving closer.
“I'm sorry for locking you in here” The clear amusement on Zarkon's face say differently. “But the world is not a forgiving one for omegas – especially such a deluded one as yourself. I can't let my property run around to be freely taken advantage of.” Lance can feel the sides of his mouth instinctively rise to show his canines as he practically growls, words coming out dripping with venom.
“I'm not your property!”
The slap comes so hard across his face before the last word had barely made it out his mouth, and that the anger that had filled up his lungs just previous empties all at once. It physically breaks their eye contact and he is left staring submissively to the side. The sting made his eyes water, but he could barely feel it. Instead his thoughts spun hurricanes around the way his skin had warmed up at the first touch he had received in weeks, blacking out every other sense. Without him noticing, the hand that had just hit him came back up, massaging his neck and sliding slowly over to his major scent gland, where the scar tissue from a bite were still itchy fresh and healing. The pleasant warmth that enveloped him made him feel sick.
“Shh. That's a good boy.”
Lance can't help the moan that slides off his lips, his every instinct telling him to lean into the touch. He refuses to give in to it, but he also can't bring himself to leave, even when the large man almost pulls him onto his lap on the bed. Even though his head is screaming in warning, the soothing touches feels so right. He wants to be good.
“I should have been here sooner, it was rude of me to leave you all alone wasn't it? You must have been so scared.” The strokes continue to move over his body and Lance keeps his eyes shut, trying to will himself to wake up from the nightmare he have gotten stuck in. “But don't worry, I will teach you how to be a good omega yet, and you'll see how this is what is best for you. That I know what is best for you.” Lance can only try to keep his breathing even for the period they sit there (minutes, hours? To Lance it might as well have been years), and when Zarkon finally pushes him off and stand he only does so with a pat on his head before leaving silently and locking the door behind him.
After he's gone, Lance goes back to the shower and tries to forcefully scrub away the smell of him on his skin, but it feels like a thick slimy goo covering every part of him, and he can't get it off even when his skin is scrubbed red and sore.
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His room is filled with things to keep him occupied – notebooks, games, a tv and a bookshelf with a wide range of books on every topic under the sun. He tried to read some of them, but it's hard to keep his mind from drifting. His tv has netflix and an internal library of even more movies, but not any normal channels. He had never thought he'd ever miss watching the news. It doesn't take him long to watch every slightly interesting show it has to offer, considering he isn't exactly drowning in selectable activities. A lot of the time he catches himself just staring onto nothing, unsure how much time has passed. Only food time brings some kind of routine into his life, and he have started skipping more meals than he eats by now. His stomach lurches and stabs painfully, but every time he tries to eat the food seems to grow in his mouth and asphyxiate him before he can swallow. The beta who usually bring him his food have even started to look a little bit worried as they come back to pick up still full plates, but keep his mouth obediently shut.
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Lance used to cry a lot as a child – maybe sometimes over what other people would call silly things. Grown ups would tell him to toughen up and stop behaving like a baby all the times, but his mama would never reprimand him for it. She just patted his back and said it's good to know your feelings, and he should never be afraid to show them even if dumb people might say dumb people things.
And it felt good to cry when he was sad. It gave his sadness an outlet and cleansed him until he felt like himself again, and he could go back to being the happy-go-lucky boy he was known as being.
He can't cry lately. It's not that he's not sad (in fact, it's probably the closest feeling he can put on his average state of mind right now) but the tears just won't come. He can just stare at the ceiling at feel how the heaviness takes over his body, moving outward from his heart to his every limb until moving an arm is like trying to lift a house over his head.
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The second time Zarkon shows up is quite some time after, but Lance have stopped counting the days. This time too he knocks on the door, but doesn't wait for and answer before coming in. Someone must have updated him on Lance's condition, because he doesn't so much as look towards today's still full plates of food sitting on top of the desk. Instead he walks towards Lance, sitting stubbornly still on the bed, with intent. As he gets to the foot of the bed, he stops and instead lean over until his breath brush the side of Lances face.
“My Omega.” His thick musky scent is overwhelming, pressed so close, and Lance have to fight himself to lean away.“I have understood I've been neglecting you.” The way Lance's breaths tremble seems to pass him by, or he just ignores it. “I brought you a gift.” Lance's eyebrows draw together, and he refuses to look in the direction of Zarkon or his gift. His emotions lately are unstable at best, but Zarkon's face right now just leaves him viciously angry.
“I don't want it.” Sharp nails immediately dig into the flesh on his cheeks as Zarkon forces Lance to look towards the package. It's a detailed piece of lingerie, white ribbons and lace. He doesn't drop his composure, but there is a dangerous tint to his voice, an unspoken threat.
“Why don't you go ahead, try it on.” Lance can feel the growl move all the way up his throat, only angrier about the fact that Zarkon would silently threaten him to bend to his will.
“Why don't you go ahead and fuck yourself!”
Zarkon's change is lightning quick, violently grabbing him by the neck and throwing him off the bed and into the air like he weigh nothing, force and gravity cutting off his air. He can't. Breathe.
"I will not tolerate disrespect, Omega. I have no use for someone that can not follow order." Zarkon hiss more than he speak, a growl dangerously close to slipping out in between the words. Lance is rendered completely powerless, wide eyed and panicked just gasping for air that isn't there, trying in vain to get the large hands off his throat. Instead Zarkon squeezes even harder, and Lance feel like his head is going to explode. There is a pressure behind his eyes, feeling like his eyes will pop, and he can't hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears. His vision is getting blurry, dark flashes making it even worse. He realize this might be the last thing he ever see. He keeps choking on the air stuck in his throat. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He is gonna die. He never even got to tell his family and friends goodbye and he's gonna die because he never know when to just shut up.
Then suddenly, he is falling to the floor like a boneless heap, only seconds from passing out. Zarkon only scoffs at the pathetic display and crouch down to grab Lance's face to look him straight into the eyes, like daring him to try it again.
"You speak when spoken to and you answer what I ask. Understood?"
He doesn't have the strength to do more than nod, still gasping and shaking.
“Good. Then I ask of you again; Go ahead and try it on.”
No matter how much he want to protest still, he doesn't have a death wish. His hands still tremble as he pulls himself up and pluck one thigh high sock out of the box and pull slowly over his foot, then the next. Slowly and hesitantly he begins to change out of his underwear, pictures flashing in front of his eyes of what exactly happened the last time he was naked in a room with Zarkon. His scentgland pulses, as if noticing. His heart beats so hard his lungs feel too small. That had been in his own apartment. He had begged for it.
He looks at himself in the full length mirror on the closet door, turning slightly where he stands. He looks... good. He isn't sure why that feels so strange now, but it's the first positive emotion he have had in so long it's like he have forgotten how it felt. He can honestly admit he never had the thought to wear something like this, but damn if it doesn't make his legs and hips looks nice. The white lace really did bring out the dark colour of his skin. Then it's immediately ruined as Zarkon makes his presence remembered.
“You are beautiful.” Then he is at Lances back, mouth suddenly at his neck and he shudders as Zarkon's breath ghosts over the scar tissue around his major scentglands. Suddenly the room is completely filled with pheromones so thick his pupils widen visibly in the mirror, and he is terrified of his own reactions. Then there is lips on his neck and he can feel something stirring hot in the lower parts of his stomach. He doesn't – he don't want this, but giving in feels so right and he is so tired of the fight. Just. Just for a little while.
With a hand on the back of his head he guides Lance onto his knees and towards his crotch. Swallowing hard, Lance bring his hands up and slowly pull the last layer of clothing between them down until he is really staring right at Zarkon's already slightly swollen dick. Lance wouldn't admit it if asked, but he really had no idea what so ever of how to give a blowjob. Last time he was too stuck in a heat to put a thought to it, but now... His face this close to an actual real life cock he have the modesty to blush. Zarkon growls in frustration, and Lance puts his hand around the base, pumping slightly and just... Licks it, experimentally. It doesn't really taste like anything more than skin, which is both a relief and disappointment. Zarkon have not yet complained, so he tries to flatten out his tongue and does it again, sucking slightly at the skin when he reaches the top. Zarkon thrust his hips forward with an impatient grunt, dragging the cock on his face and Lance catches the hint - finally putting the head of the dick in his mouth, swallowing more from anxiety than thinking about what he is doing but getting an appreciative humm none the less. He tries to take more into his mouth, but quickly chokes as it hits the back of his throat and have to let go to cough. It's not appreciated and he is embarrassed. With something almost like determination, he puts it in his mouth again, starting to suck and running his tongue over what he can fit and using his fist to stimulate the rest. For a little while, it seems enough as Zarkon sighs and move his hips along with Lance's movements, the hand in his hair massaging his head and it's almost okay. Lance can handle this. Then his thrusting gets more forceful, pushing his way deeper while keeping Lance's head stuck still even as he starts choking and moans from panic. Unsatisfied, he start fucking his mouth even faster and deeper, leaving no room to take another breath. Lance feel his eyes glazing over, making it impossible to see anything but a blurry mess, but horrified to be unsure if the fluids on his face are tears or not. Great, now he is probably drooling worse than a pavlovian test subject too, really putting on the charm there Lance.
There is no time to mentally prepare before Zarkon is cumming in his mouth, making him cough and splutter. Oh god, no one ever told him sperm tasted this BITTER, ew. As soon as he retracts, Zarkon closes his hand over his mouth and lean his head back, forcing him to swallow it all down. As soon as he lets go Lance is sinking down to the floor, pants and coughs ripping at his sore throat.
Zarkon isn't gentle, or considerate, and somehow that feels like a relief. That at least he will never enjoy that part, that he wouldn't know what he'd do if Zarkon had treated him with kindness.
He spends the next hour throwing up.
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After that Zarkon seems to put it into routine to visit Lance every couple of days, which in turn leaves Lance waking up with a racing heart each morning and the question if he'll show up today on his mind. Sometimes he can distract himself with books and food, sometimes he tries to eat his breakfast just to throw it right back up again (his throat is so torn from all the acid there is constantly a taste of blood in his mouth – Zarkon seems to like that).
When he does arrive it's mostly just to spend some anticlimactic time, sitting down next to him on the bed to read a book with a hand running up and down Lances back or bringing in a cup of Starbucks and watching an odd foreign movie with Lance across his lap. (There is always the touching.)
He tries to protest to begin with, but every wrong step is quickly punished and smothered – it's odd how quick Zarkon's entire demeanor can change from gentle to murderous and back to gentle again. There is never a moment that he have the luxury of feeling safe to act, finding that it's easier to just not speak at all than trying to find the right words.
Then there is the times that are not “mostly”.
Sometimes he'll arrive frustrated and filled with adrenaline, reeking of alpha pheromones so strong it get hard to even stand straight in his presence, flashing eyes daring anyone to cross him. The first times he'd grab Lance by the neck and throw him on the bed, sinking his teeth repeatedly deep into flesh until there is no more skin to mark, no more skin to claim, no matter how Lance screams, ripped open both literally and metaphorically from the strong smell and claiming touch of his alpha.
Then as it happens for the third time, before he even put his hands on him Lance lets the bug in the back of his throat out and it comes out as a purr, stopping Zarkon in his step as his eyes glaze over, slowly puts his head down in the crook of Lances neck and just breathes in his omega scent until he is calm. Lance had known about this ability in theory, he just had no idea he could use it. He figures honestly it might have been the reason Zarkon sought him out in his rabid moments from the very start, he just didn't have the presence of mind to wait for Lance to figure it out.
And then, there is the times he'll arrive with a fire in his eyes and Lance will know to just wait, silent and conflicted, lest this time his throat will be ripped out before the fire dies. Those freakishly talented fingers will start to trace down Lance's chest, stomach, thighs, memorizing and relearning his shape until he is burning, panting and too hot, until it is too much. Until there is nothing on his mind but the feeling of hands on him and around him and in him, and he asks, he begs and cries for a release, no matter what it takes, no matter how sick it makes him feel after.
In a way it feels like every visit is a lesson in his own instincts. As much as his stomach churns and his head scream, every centimeter of their bodies touching light a pleasant flame on his skin, warming up everything inside him, and every time the connection breaks he is left devastatingly aware of how empty and cold he is without it.
He spends more time in the shower scrubbing himself from head to toe and changes his clothes a lot more often, but he can never really get rid of the smell of Zarkon constantly clinging to him now.
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It takes some time, but one day Zarkon arrives with another person in tow, and it's the first time he's seen more than one person at a time since staying here. Somehow that makes him anxious, no doubt sending out distressed pheromones in every direction. Zarkon stroke his hair, almost as if he is trying to be comforting.
“Don't worry. Ulaz here is our packs doctor, and I find his expertise is trustworthy. I will be with you every second.” That doesn't help to make him any less anxious.
Ulaz sets his briefcase down on the single desk, motioning for Lance to take a seat in the accompanying chair. He hesitates, but a threatening look from Zarkon makes him stumble over. Now he feels slightly self conscious, half naked and greasy from sleep, noticing for the first time how his skin have become pale and tautly stretched over bone where there used to be fat and muscle. It makes him flush in uncomfortableness.
From his briefcase, Ulaz picks up what looks like half a syringe and several different test tubes, and it makes Lance chew his lip worriedly. He never liked getting shots, and seing blood made him dizzy.
“How have you been feeling lately?”
“Good, I guess...”
“Have you been feeling unusually tired?”
“I.. I don't know?”
Ulaz humms in contemplation.
“Do you have headaches or have you had any periods of memory loss?”
“Not that I- No.”
“Have you had any sudden fainting spells or nausea?” His eyes are calculating but warm, like he genuinely want to help. Ulaz presence is soothing, and he finds that in an other time and place, he probably would have liked him.
Lance shakes his head. It's not entirely true, but he doesn't want to have to explain himself in front of Zarkon. Ulaz just nods and continues to attach needles to the end of some clear tubes. He grabs Lance's arm, positioning it so he can look for something at the inside of Lance's elbow. Apparently pleased, he let Lances arm fall down onto the arm rest and picks up one of the needles. Lance winces and close his eyes tightly, but a hand in his hair brings him to force himself to hold still.
He barely feel the needle penetrating his skin, and surprised he open one of his eyes just a bit. He immediately regrets it when he see blood flowing out of his arm through a tube to rapidly fill up a test tube, and shut them close again. It takes maybe a minute tops, and he feel the uncomfortable pull of the needle going out and it's actually way worse than the sting of it being inserted. He open his eyes, surprised at how easy that was. Ulaz puts a little bit of gauze on the spot of the bleeding to stop it, and puts a normal band aid over it to keep it in place. He looks at Lance and smiles encouragingly.
“Good job.” Lance feel his cheeks get warm up despite himself, and he looks away awkwardly.
Ulaz packs up the now filled tubes in special folders on his briefcase, and pack up everything again. As soon as he is finished, he turns toward Lance again and lean down so they are more or less on equal height and he can look him straight in the eyes before he asks;
“So can you tell me the reason you're not eating lately?” Lance feels all blood drain from his face, mouth flapping open and closed like a dying fish. He is painfully aware of Zarkon's position just behind him, listening in on every word he says.
“I don't... I'm not hungry.”
“Never?”
Lance shakes his head. It's not exactly true, the burning cramps in his stomach seems to want to say, but at the very least he have no appetite and isn't it the same, really?
Ulaz seems to accept his answer, nodding and standing up again.
“Even if it's not easy Lance, please do try to eat at least one meal everyday. Starvation affect your body much more and for far longer than you realize.” With that he nods to Zarkon, who just barely nod back to him, and move towards the door. Zarkon put his hand over the scar at his neck, making Lance suck in a breath as warmth envelopes him. Then it's gone just as quickly again, leaving together with Zarkon as he shows Ulaz out. Lance finds that he miss it, and the realization makes his eyes water.
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“Alpha Zarkon.”
Ulaz is standing in the doorway of his private flat, holding a medical file. Normally he would have not taken well to someone dropping by unnoticed while he was not working, but he had requested this rapport would take first priority and get back to him as soon as possible, so long as no one in his troops was in immediate danger. He was far from someone with a lot of free time, not trusting a secretary to handle his meetings and messages and finding many upsides to talking to clients and suppliers directly to know there was no misunderstandings between them. Having subordinates making too many great choices rarely led to something good. It had been a relatively slow week, only a few deliveries to pick up and left over stock being traded of to people too powerful to allow this to come out to the public. His pack was basically untouchable, allowed to do as they wanted, as long as he had the information he had and mostly stayed out of the general public's view. But stay silent too long and people start to forget why they feared you.
He wave his hand in a way that made it clear to Ulaz he could step inside, and start talking.
“The good news are that apart from the expected low levels on some vitamins and slightly dehydrated, physically he appears to be entirely healthy.” Zarkon's eyebrows furrow at that.
“And the bad?” Ulaz looks hesitant to share his information for a second, and Zarkon narrows his eyes.
“I believe it's depression.”
“Depression?” The word drops like something disgusting from his mouth. He wasn't the main alpha of one of the largest and most alpha-filled packs known just because of his physical power – he was the main alpha because he could provide. Everyone he recruited swore an oath to give their life to their pack, and was in return given a life in luxury. Weakness and doubts tended to spread like a disease if you let it, and it wasn't a welcome presence. He had no reservations of getting rid of the ones that turned out to be bad for the pack. To hear that one of his newest recruit – an omega at that – had succumbed was troublesome and he should by all means be eliminated as quick as possible. But something small itched in the back of his mind that it wasn't just any omega – it was Lance. Somehow, the work and time he had had to put into shaping and taming the stubborn, mislead boy had been enough to spark a little fire of fondness inside him. Tall, lean and gorgeous he had always been something of the ideal omega - until he opened his mouth. Zarkon had slowly managed to break down that part of him, shutting him up, and it had been more exhilarating than any other thing lately. Most of his free time recently had been spent in that room.
“I think... He is used to being able to go wherever he wants to, and having a lot of people around. The sudden change in lifestyles to a more proper one might overwhelm him, the way and outdoor cat might never take to living indoors. I also believe it'd be good for him to get some sunlight.”
Getting out more. Zarkon can't be expected to walk every single member of his pack around on a leash like they were yappy dogs. He provided them with a place to stay and expected them to follow his orders, or face the consequences. Normally the omegas too were allowed to move freely around the house to get both socialization and exercise, even going into the city joined by an alpha. Rare as they were around here, the omegas of his pack had most of his alphas and betas wrapped around their fingers, much to his amusement. They played an important part in motivating his flock to be the toughest and strongest they could be. But those were proper omegas that had joined by their own accord, lured into this lifestyle by dreams of glittering stones and a promise of protection. As much as he had a strict view of what an omega really was and should be, he was just as strict about fulfilling his own part as an alpha. Letting an omega as twisted as his newest one out of his sight was out of the question. Entertaining as it was, that foolhardy naivety was too easy to take advantage of. Too many operations had gone wrong lately, and he suspected there was a double agent posing somewhere in his pack. He could not allow the risk of leaving Lance in the wrong hands while he was gone somewhere. He could bring him with him, but arriving anywhere with an omega at his side would suggest to everyone they were mated.
It would suggest they were mated.
Hm. Zarkon had never so much as considered taking a true mate as an option, finding it to be an unnecessary weight to carry. But something about Lance obviously had appealed to him, other than the fact that he was stealing him away from Takashi. Lance was young, strong and fertile. He was refreshingly headstrong and could probably even hold his own against weaker alphas, but he had made fast progress in the hands of himself. It was not necessarily a bad trait to easily look past the less important alphas that would try to grab his attention, as long as he still fell apart at Zarkon's touch. He wasn't ready yet, but with a little time... Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible idea.
“Thank you, Ulaz. I will make sure to take care of this problem.” Ulaz nods, face blank, and leaves.
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Lance have been restless lately. The bed doesn't feel right anymore, and he have taken to moving all his pillows and blankets to the floor to spread out. When it's not enough, he starts rummaging through the wardrobe for anything that is soft. It's been a while since Zarkon had brought Ulaz with him to do all those tests, but he haven't been showing up since. Most of him is relieved to just being left alone to rummage all that he want, but there is also a part of him that hurts and screams inside his head because what if he isn't desirable enough, what if the reason Zarkon doesn't come anymore is because he realized Lance is disgusting and no one could ever want him? He tries to pile pillows and his mattress and to build walls to block out the thoughts, some kind of barrier towards the outside, but there isn't enough pillows and he end up laying directly on the floor. It's frustrating and makes him chew on his knuckles until they bleed.
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Only a single knock warns him of someone at his door before it's opened, not enough time to do more than turn around to catch Zarkon's eyes as he freezes halfway into the room. This is the first time he can ever remember having caught Zarkon off guard somehow, but instead of using this in his own favor he is equally frozen in place with his drumming heartbeat echoing in his ears.
Zarkon seems surprised, but pleased as he unfreeze and smiles. Lance shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the voice moving closer.
“Good boy. I knew you'd come around.” Lance whimpers. The praise still makes him warm inside, no matter how much he want to deny it. “You've made a beautiful nest.” This makes Lance's eyes shoot open.
It's not a nest. It's – it's an attempt at a safespace. Right? Something that was his. He wouldn't have – he didn't make a nest. That's a mating signal, that's domestic. That's not what this is. That wouldn't make sense. Right? He knows better than disagreeing by now though, whispering a 'thanks' that was meant to be spoken at normal volume. So unused, he is forgetting how to properly use his voice.
Zarkon doesn't see it that way, not hesitating to cross the border to where Lance is. As he leans in, Lance can smell an unusual tanginess on his skin that makes a tiny flare light up in the back of his head. He is going into a rut. That's why he is here. Lances stomach drops at the same time his heart jumpstarts so loudly in his ears that he almost doesn't hear the next words out of Zarkon's mouth.
“Do you want to leave this room?” He can feel his eyes visibly widen and his mouth drop in surprise. That is not what he expected, not in a million years. But then he catches himself before getting his hopes up too high. He isn't sure where this is going. There's gotta be a catch.
Lance nods, hesitantly. Zarkon strokes the hair at the back of his head, digging his fingers in just so.
“You're going to bite me.”
At first Lance is confused, not understanding what he means. When the realization sets in it's a shock. It's true, Zarkon had claimed him, but he had also admitted it was to ruin him. This wasn't just a show of power, this was the mutual agreement to stay by the other. It was the one thing that couldn't be forced. Is this another thing to throw in Shiro's face?
But then, what choice did he have?
He doesn't get the time to think about it before Zarkon have pushed him face down into the pillows, and Lance wishes he had been wearing some more clothes than a pair of boxers right now, but they are all thrown around the nest to make it softer. One of Zarkon's hands are holding onto the hair at the back of his head, the other is running over his back in smooth strokes. Growling from frustration, Zarkon moves and positions Lances body as easily as if it were clay. He bites the back of Lances neck, and Lance shudders. He is face down, ass up and he would have found it humiliating if he had still had the energy to care. Zarkon grinds his hips into Lance's, and he can feel Zarkon growing harder against his backside. The tangyness he had smelled is starting to get heavy and filling up the room, making it almost hard to breath, together with Zarkon's growls and moans. Suddenly his underwear is pulled down and off his legs, thrown somewhere out of sight, as Zarkon bites and suck bruises onto his skin. Now there is only a thin layer of Zarkon's own clothes separating their bodies and the aggressive grunts and the overwhelming smell of alpha gives Lance an idea that the rut is starting for real and his hormones gives him such conflicting emotions he don't know what to do except stay still and submissive, staring unseeingly in front of him as Zarkon uses his body.
Zarkon grabs his chin, lifting it so Lance's eyes are forced to meet his own. It almost seems like he is searching for something in his face. Lance isn't sure what it is, his face as impassively submissive as before, meeting Zarkon's eyes from under dark lashes and blinking slowly.
He can't tell if Zarkon finds what he is looking for, but he does lean away and stands up, undressing the rest of the way until he's naked too before sitting back down next to Lance who have been watching him frozen in position.
With no warning Zarkon shoves three fingers into him and starts pumping them in and out while scissoring and stretching, making Lance's entire body twitch in surprise and he screams. He can feel the slick start flowing as the inside of his thighs is being fondled, running down his legs as he shakes and struggles to keep his breathing even as the stretch become slightly less painful and instead burns against his insides in a way he just needs more off, right now oh god. When Zarkon pulls back his fingers Lance automatically tries to follow them to keep the feeling of being filled, and whines pathetically when it's lost anyway. It speaks volumes of Zarkon's mental strength and cruelty that even in rut, he takes time to tease and don't just fuck him into the floor.
As soon as he gets a second to breathe, he is thrown down against the bedding as Zarkon straddles his legs and throws one over his shoulder. Completely neglected until now, he grabs Lance's dick and start stroking it with experienced strokes, and it makes Lance jump a bit in surprise as he have to stop himself from moaning out loud. Then suddenly Zarkon is inside him and it hurts but the pain is so satisfying and he clamps down, Zarkon grunting like a wild animal as he leans over Lance and slam his hips into him, still with Lances leg over his shoulder stretching uncomfortably. Lance whimpers when the hand on his cock disappear.
He is flipped over on his stomach and then without waiting Zarkon is inside him again, and Lance is so hard that his entire body shakes with the force of each hard thrust. Lance sobs in frustration, trying to grind his cock on the floor to get some release, but it's in vain and Zarkon grabs onto his hips hard enough that it will surely bruise to hold them still as he keeps pounding in and out of him. He isn't even keeping track of the noises coming out of his mouth right now. Zarkon letting out a frustrated noise as he is relentlessly slamming him into the cushioned floor and it's hot and too much, filling him so wonderfully, and for a second Lance's every nerve is awake in pleasure, and he force large mouthful of airs into his lungs trying to deal but it is still o v e r w h e l m i n g.
The pace changes as Zarkon starts almost lazily thrust in and out like nothing due to the collection of slick and precum working as all the lubrication he needs. Somewhere in the part of Lance's mind that is freakishly clear and trying to block out everything that is happening, he acknowledges that the pace probably means he isn't that far from knotting, and he can't say if he's relieved or frustrated.
The downright sinful sound of wet skin slapping against skin, the hand on his neck and the feeling of Zarkon's dick pressing against and expanding his walls is getting unbearable. He is crying out with each deep thrust now, voice raw and broken.
Zarkon lifts him into a vertical position, sitting up in a comfortable enough position and spins him around so they are now face to face, before once again pushing him down on his dick. The new position makes everything drip out of him and he whines, instinctively trying to hold it all in while looking for that release, trying to position himself until he is fucking himself on Zarkon's dick rather than the opposite. Suddenly he feels the pressure getting even bigger inside him, and he shudders and his head falls forward helplessly into the crook of Zarkon's neck where the intoxicating smell of alpha is the strongest as he tries to keep moving up and down on his own. With one last big thrust he feels the entirety of Zarkon's knot enter him, finally swelling and putting pressure everywhere and that finally does it. His world go hot white, and he barely notice Zarkon shooting his load into him in his blissed out state, filling him up until the concave line of his stomach bulges softly outwards. Zarkon's voice is rough and dominant when he hisses his command.
“Bite”
Lance doesn't let himself think, just let his teeth close on the flesh in front of him until he feels the skin breaking and blood filling up his mouth, and hold onto it until the intense orgasm finally ceases and the sweat on his body cools down enough to make him shiver. Zarkon's back is leaned against the bed and he is petting the back of Lances head contentedly. Lance can't see his face from this position, but he is too scared and sore to move his head and look. His mouth tastes like blood. What did he just do?
Lance tries to move into a more comfortable position, but is immediately reminded of the knot tying them together as it tugs painfully with his administrations, making him tense up which makes it worse. Zarkon grabs onto him and help to hold him still, carefully maneuvering them both to lie on their sides and pulling a blanket around Lance, who is still shivering. Zarkon's hands are soft now, stroking his back in big comforting motions, and the drying blood is sticky on his face.
“Ssh, you've been so good. Such a good boy, my omega.” Lance sobs.
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True to his word, when Lance next wakes up he isn't in his room any more. Instead this place is bright, with large floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive looking interior and an unmistakable heavy smell of Zarkon. (Of himself? He realizes with a shock the two have mixed in a way that feels familiar but isn't, shouldn't be.)
He passed out cold in his prison last night and somehow he is now in Zarkon's private quarters, however he got here some when between last night and this morning. The view from the windows shows the city with all it's skyscrapers from the top floor as the sun rises slowly in the horizon, and it's gorgeous if not a terrible vertigo trigger. The door leading outside is cracked open just a bit, letting in some soft instrumental music. The bed is large enough that he can basically lie straight across it in any direction, and the duvets are so magically soft his fingers and instincts itch to start arranging them in a pleasing way.
Lance is wearing a large t-shirt reaching his mid thighs (it's not a dress, is it?) the kind he definitely didn't have in his fancy wardrobe, which means Zarkon must have fetched him this from somewhere else. (Maybe it's Zarkon's? It feels a little odd to think of Zarkon in a t-shirt but the size would make sense) Trying to stand feels strange, not painful but more like when you've been stretching muscles you usually don't stretch and now gravity feels a little bit off. (Like that time he went horseback riding. He does not have the leg muscles for horseback riding.) He wobbles awkwardly over to the door, peeking through the spring.
Zarkon is sitting at a large, dark red wood desk and writing rapidly on a laptop in what looks like something of a mix between office and sparsely decorated living room. He is wearing his glasses and a white button up, looking completely at home and comfortable doing work early in the morning after a rut. When he notices Lance, he stops writing and when he catches his eye, Lance automatically lowers his gaze, noticing the swollen red skin and awful looking wound on his neck where his scent glands should be. He did that. He can't believe he did that. Zarkon stands from behind his desk, walking over to him in just a few confident strides. Lance closes his eyes reflexively when a hand comes up to grab his chin and angle his face in a way that would force him to look into Zarkon's eyes if he opened them. He isn't sure what he was expecting, but the soft, chaste kiss he gets wasn't it.
“My Omega.” Something in the back of Lance pulls, like a underwater current.
“My Alpha.” Speaking hurts, his voice hoarse and broken, but Lance finds himself answering instinctively without even thinking about what he is saying. His own pliant attitude sends a shock down his spine and flush to his cheeks as soon as it registers. Zarkon looks pleased at this, he would almost stretch to say he looks happy if it wasn't absurd to think of Zarkon having such an emotion, and with a steady hand at the small of Lance's back he guides him into a kitchen that looks just as modern and expensive as the rest of the apartment.
When he is placed before a table with enough breakfast food to last for an entire pack with Zarkon watching him closely, he eats slowly and carefully, but in the end he have tried almost every kind of food on the table which is more than he have eaten at once without losing it in a long time. Zarkon looks on with approval and something in Lance that is most likely their newly formed mutual bond is beaming with pride for pleasing his partner.
Zarkon actually gives him something of a tour around the penthouse, pointing towards an empty shelf in the bedroom and telling him he is allowed to fill it up with whatever he pleases (not that he have anything to put on there), shows him his closet and where everything in the kitchen and bathroom is. There is two kinds of body wash in the shower (One halfway used, black one, and one completely unopened pale blue aloe vera sea salt, exactly the same one he always used to buy down to the brand) and two toothbrushes by the sink, and that is an odd feeling considering this is literally the first time he walk into this apartment, and there should have been no time preparing this. The last thing he shows off is an extensive surround system, connected via blue tooth to a tablet with a music library, and it hits Lance after trying it out a little just how much he have missed music.
After that Zarkon tells him to go back to bed and rest, which does seem kind of hypocritical, while he have to go out to work, leaving Lance alone in the penthouse and locking the door behind him. Shiny new cage, still a cage.
Not knowing what else to do anyway, Lance clicks his way to a playlist filled with slow music and go back into the bedroom to lie down, choosing to not mentally go over the situation in favor of passing out. Sleep comes a lot easier than he'd expected.
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When Lance wakes the next time, it's due to Zarkon climbing into the bed next to him. It's completely dark apart from the lights of the city outside, playing across the floor and bringing him a strange sense of comfort. Zarkon is mumbling under his breath, too vague to make out any words, and when he notices Lance's raised head he leans over the bed and kiss him gently on the forehead.
“Go back to sleep, omega.”
“Okay.” Lance is sleeping again before his head hits the pillow.
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The second morning is not all that unlike the first, except he goes to take a shower as soon as he have eaten. The familiar smell of his soap makes his heart flutter in happiness, and he don't even care how ridiculous that sounds. Zarkon leaves him alone for some hours until lunch where he mess around with games on the tablet he used to play music, but when he gets back he brings Lance's favourite chinese take out and a completely brand new credit card with Lance's name on it in golden letters, connected to his own bank account.
Lance stares at it in wonder as Zarkon tells him to buy whatever he wishes to feel at home, as long as they can get it inside. He had spent many hours browsing web stores and real stores alike, fantasizing about having the money to get everything, yet here he is presented with an opportunity to go wild and his mind is drawing a blank. He spends most of the day just looking at it like it might disappear at any moment, while Zarkon snickers and makes calls about business stuff Lance neither understands nor care about.
They go to bed at the same time, Zarkon running his hand over his shoulder and up his neck and lighting up the warmth inside him before telling him good night and turning off the lights. Zarkon's breathing is soft and almost hypnotic. He is ugly when he sleeps, mouth hanging open dumbly. The bed is starting to smell more like Lance, or maybe he is starting to smell more like the bed. He realizes somewhere in the back of his mind that he could easily kill Zarkon right now, slit his throat in his sleep and escape with the keys left on the table by the door.
He doesn't move.
It's the best he have slept in very very long.
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Seeing someone that used to be something so inhuman in his mind doing things like vacuuming and folding laundry in sweatpants is... Strange. Lance had always been rather neat and he had no problems taking care of his own space, but now every bit of that space was shared. Logically it should have been obvious Zarkon liked to clean considering how the flat had always been spotless, but knowing it was likely and actually seeing it in front of him was completely different things. He helps, find a routine of him doing dishes and dusting and wiping the windows whenever necessary, cleaning and drying the dirty laundry and sending whatever required it off to be dry cleaned. Zarkon took care of vacuuming and mopping and bringing their laundry in and putting it in the closets. They alternate between cooking and getting food from some close by take out place. Generally Zarkon wakes a good half hour before him at the very least and Lance wake up each morning to the smell of coffee and toast. It was all awfully domestic. He is still tired deep in his bones all the time, and sometimes after a bad night of nightmares and waking up in cold sweat and can't keep his breakfast down still. But it's getting better. He is putting clothes on in the morning, sometimes from his own closet and sometimes he steal a shirt from Zarkon. It's better. Strangely enough.
There is starting to pop up traces of Lance everywhere. Framed movie posters on the walls, sea smell scented candles in every room. Science fiction books and a Star Wars saltshaker that might be the greatest thing he ever bought. He would have expected Zarkon to object to him adding a bunch of rather silly things to his home, but he doesn't seem bothered at all by the destruction of his minimalist style. As long as he do what he is told to do right away without questioning (be it boiling some water for dinner or spreading his legs) Lance is allowed to do as he wants and treated almost sweetly. The bruises that he used to have covering his body are getting more and more rare.
A printed photo of Zarkon and himself smiling widely as he snapped the picture, way before all of this, is on the wall leading into the kitchen. He isn't sure how Zarkon got the picture but he guess there is no reason to believe he wouldn't go so far as looking through his phone – or maybe he had even sent it to him, once upon a time. He never did get his phone back since he left it behind on his coffee table, but he did have an ipad with internet access where he could have easily contacted anyone and everyone he wanted by now. It even got facebook downloaded.
He stay as far away as possible from all social media.
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There is more window than wall in the flat, and while he loves the view he don't like standing too close to them. Even though he knows logically they are probably strong enough to hold a lot more than his weight, there is still always a slideshow playing in his head of himself tripping, the glass shattering and letting him fall to his death. (The scary thing about it is that he don't know if he is scared to fall or that daydreaming of his own death is the only time he feel at peace.)
Of course Zarkon have noticed his hesitation. It's just how he works.
Which is why he more or less have Lance pressed up against it. The height is glaring him in the face, and had it not been for the glass holding him in place he is probably dizzy enough to stumble while his head desperately tries to make sense of the long way down. He don't know if he should feel humiliated or not, pushed half naked against a window – he is probably too high up for anybody to see, but it doesn't stop the fact that he can see the people and traffic moving beneath them.
Despite Zarkon being noticeably taller, their hips align pretty well (Lance did pull a good straw in the genetics lottery) but when his legs are forced apart he sink down considerably and he is lifted until his toes just very barely touch the ground, Zarkon seemingly having no problem supporting his weight with one arm. Unable to trust his legs to support him for very long, his balance is forced to depend on the way his face and arms are pushed up against the window. Zarkon is running his free hand over his body, the small of his back and the insides of his bare thighs and caressing the discreet glands there, waking them. Lance moans out loud as the room at once fills with thick pheromones. If someone just looked up, they could see him right now, naked and panting with slick running down his legs. What would they think? Would they think he was a whore, a dirty slut to use? Would they be envious of him, in a luxurious penthouse getting it on while they were out in the cold weekend shopping for discount meat? Would they think he was some perverse deviant who wanted to show off?
Would they think he was happy?
Zarkon starts fucking into him with his normal ruthless pace, Lance whimpering at the pain as his breath leaves fog on the window. Zarkon leans over his back to put his free hand just over Lance's head so he is mounted like an animal, whispering in his ear.
“Look at all the people out there. What do you think they'd say if they looked up and saw you now?” Lance whimpers pathetically. Talk about hitting right on the mark. Zarkon moves his mouth over his neck, nipping and sucking at the skin there. The skin on his face is rough from not having shaved and it scratch like sandpaper. Lance can feel what he think is a smile against his skin. “I know what they would think. They'd be jealous of me, being inside you.” Lance's pupils widen, completely caught of guard.
“W-what?” Zarkon laugh into his neck, his labored breath warm and pace never stuttering.
“Of course they would be – they would see you, so beautifully wrecked and taking me in so deep, so good, and they would imagine it was them there fucking you, they couldn't help to.” To his embarrassment, Lance feel himself getting slicker and his dick twitch at his words.
“They would have to force themselves to act like they don't care. But as they get home at night, they can't stop the pictures in their head of your beautiful arched back and how good you look taking me. How amazing you look, being bred. And they would despair, because they know you will never be theirs. Because you already belong to someone else.” Lance moans from deep in his throat and his dick is so hard it's almost painful. Fuck.
“Tell me, who do you belong to?" He is no longer whispering, and for once Lance knows the answer.
"Y-you.." Zarkon grabs his hair, straightening his own back and pulling Lance's head back so his back arches even more, almost bending in half.
"Speak louder." He commands. Lance tries to swallow to clear his dry throat, but it's easier said than done when at the same time you're getting thoroughly fucked. He can't hold back the drool that run down his chin or the moans forcing his mouth open again whenever he tries to close it just for a second. The sudden smack of a hand against his ass help him sucking a deep breath into his lungs.
"You. I belong to you. Only you." He is lifted just a little bit more, more or less completely off the ground and the angle gets him even deeper, forcing a scream out his throat as he tries to rock back to get more with what little leverage he got.
"Good boy. You've done so good." Zarkon moves his hand down to palm at Lance's dick, and that is all it takes for him to come. His eyes flutter shut as his world goes bright and explodes in a wave of pleasure, intensified by each thrust still hitting deep inside him. As he comes down from his orgasm, slowly, Zarkon is still fucking into him ruthlessly and he moans, more from being uncomfortable and overstimulated than enjoying it. With some final hard slaps of his hips Zarkon seems to finally come, Lance sighing both in relief and because his body is pleased, joined to his mate with his seed dripping out of him.
It's not until he have gone so far as he has been taken to the bathroom together with Zarkon to wash off the worst of the fluids covering their bodies he realizes he had given in. When? How? Had he really given up everything he ever stood for somewhere over the course of the last couple of months? Was this it?
In his mind, he doesn't want it to be. Yet he stays still as Zarkon's soaped up hands run over his chest.
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Watching Zarkon change his clothes and checking different ties in the mirror right in front of him like this (like a normal human) is still strange, like seeing something taken completely out of context. Zarkon notices his staring, looking over as if he's mulling something over before speaking.
“Get dressed. You will come with me.” At first Lance freezes, but then he throws himself off the bed and towards his new wardrobe. He don't know where they are going, but he isn't going to miss his chance by wasting time. He starts picking through his wardrobe swiftly, making up outfits in his head as he does so. He haven't had a reason to dress up for so long, his heart is beating like a drum. He takes out slimmed dress shirt with a semi transparent lace details on the chest that stands out against his skin and well fitted high waist checkered marine dress pants. The shirt is significantly more low cut and adorned than he'd prefer, much like all the shirts in his wardrobe, no doubt to show off his scarred scentglands but making him feel a little bit in over his head. He keeps his socks on and finds a thigh-long midnight blue suit jacket – coat? - that would at least let him keep some modesty. Lastly he picks up a random belt, before taking a considering look towards where Zarkon have finally decided on a bright purple tie, and picking up another. It's such a small detail, and he isn't sure it's a good idea. It's just... He always wanted to be a part of those couples that would coordinate their outfits. And maybe he didn't end up in exactly the relationship he had wanted, but... If this is gonna be his life, why shouldn't he at least have this.
When Zarkon turns around finally his eyebrows rise in what seems to be surprise, looking Lance up and down before letting out a little laugh. The purple belt is impressively close in colour to his tie, seeing them side by side in the mirror. He walks up to Lance and brush his hair back from his face with whatever kind of gel he had just used in his own hair. He haven't had a haircut during his time here, and despite his hair growing painfully slow he know it's getting a longer than he likes. (Not actually long-long or, god forbid, Keith-long. He had cut his hair in a way that made sure he would never ever grow a mullet.) With the hair pushed back though it looks fine, maybe good even. He is surprised about how beautiful his own eyes look with nothing to distract from them. It's like he doesn't recognize that it's his face.
Zarkon doesn't bring anything with him except his phone. Lance follows close behind him, feeling the energy buzzing underneath his skin. As Zarkon opens the door he holds his breath, scared it might all have been a joke, but suddenly he is in a tiny hallway and there is no locks anywhere in sight except the one behind him.
He barely got any idea of what this place really looks like from the inside. The hallway have no other doors, except what looks like an elevator, and he can't help but wonder about what would happen if the power went out or if it broke. He could get stuck, surviving on whatever was left in the fridge until it too was empty or spoiled and then he'd starve to death. It takes about two weeks for a human to die from starvation. With so little fat on his body, he'd probably go quicker. Maybe he wouldn't even have waited around that long for the inevitable.
The elevator counts down 31 floors all in all to get to ground level, and each floor passed makes Lance's heart speed up a little more. Then the door opens, and he is not prepared for the sucker punch to his senses – the sound and the smells and the PEOPLE makes him loose his breath. There is alphas and betas and even omegas everywhere – it looks more like a hotel lobby than a home. A couple of people whip their heads around in silent acknowledgement of the top alpha's appearance, eyes widening at the sight of him, more and more heads turning as a silence settles. He never thought he was ugly, but next to someone like Allura or Shiro it was hard not to feel a little bit lacking in the looks department. It was simply not that easy to get noticed when you had the humanized version of a god next to you. The way he feels like right now, walking across the room with the eyes of every single person in this room following his every little movement, he feels like he is the most desirable person in the world.
There is a middle aged woman waiting in the foyer, long graying blond hair pulled back from her face with a single hairband. She got a sharp face and scrutinizing eyes, like she'd find your every weakness and insecurity just by looking at you and would not hesitate to use it against you. Almost a relief, she doesn't look like she find anyone in this room worthy of her time. When she looks over Lance a flicker of recognition lights up in her eyes, before it's gone back into a stone faced neutral again.
“I see you brought along a friend. Is this what held you?”
“Not at all. Simply a matter of vanity.” The woman snorts.
“Is that so.”
Lance is almost skipping the last few meters til the door. He can feel a cold draft on his face as people move in and out, and he almost cries he have missed the wind on his face so much. Three meters, two meters, one meter and he is outside and he have to stop just to take in lungful of breaths, the unmuffled sounds and smells of traffic and people and birds and – is that a dog? - filling the air.
As he is taking in everything, Zarkon hails down a cab. The woman snickers.
“He looks like he is around the age of Lotor. Maybe you can set up a play date.” Zarkon's eyes go freezing cold as he stares her down, but she meets his gaze head on. Then her eyes go uncharacteristically soft. “You know I would never oppose you. I am just afraid he was a bad move. It's not gonna look good if your own omega won't even listen to your orders.”
“You have nothing to worry about. He might have been a challenge, but in the end, instinct always win over principles.” She shrugs and sits down in the backseat of the yellow car that just came to a stop right next to her, scooting over to make room for two more. Zarkon lift his eyes to Lance, still standing in the same place a couple of feet away smiling like a fool. He can't help but finding it endearing. He calls for him, and Lance's eyes immediately snaps towards him and he jogs over and follow into the car without questioning.
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They arrive at what looks like a coffee shop just outside of town, but Lance can't recognize it as somewhere he had been before. Outside there is a couple of people waiting on a bench. They are tough looking with very barely concealed muscles that doesn't look to be for show, alphas crossing off every stereotype, but dressed properly covering up what looks like scarred and tattooed skin from the bits that show. As they arrive, one of them distinguish himself from the group and walks towards them. As soon as he notices Lance is there, he raises his eyebrows and smirk. Lance can tell he is the kind to make lewd comments and he is just about to, but Zarkon making his presence known seems to make him rethink. Instead he turn directly to Zarkon and shows them inside a back door that reads “employees only”. A couple of the others follow, but doesn't seem to be a part of the conversation as they sit down at a sofa and continue their conversation as soon as they are inside.
The inside is more well decorated and homely than he expects, a far cry from the messy backrooms he have seen in his own experiences with working at coffee shops. There is neatly piled boxes of coffee on a low shelf, and a normal sized freezer with prebaked frozen goods. Business can't be that good if this is all they expect they need to have in stock, but he supposes there might be more somewhere else. The man turn around and cross his arms, signaling that they are going to talk now.
“You here to beg for us to give in?”
“Absolutely not. I am just here to talk about the deal we had and ask why you have decided that you should suddenly refuse it.”
“Oh, don't try me with that shit. You think you got this entire town in your palm but I'm not afraid of you, man. You just gonna spread it out to some high horses, I don't think so. The streets are screaming and will pay anything right now! If you gonna get this you gotta have something real good up your sleeve.” Yikes, this guy is serious about his coffee. Zarkon eyes squint just a little bit.
“I assure you, there will be no attempt at bargaining from our side. If you continue to refuse, we will simply have to convince you.”
“Oh so what was I supposed to think?” The man have a grin like a shark, large dirty teeth showing and making you step back rather than feeling at ease. “You' bringing your bitch here to ''convince'' us? I sure wouldn't mind that, those legs look pretty flexible, arn't they.” Lance startles, but Zarkon reacts the moment the last word have left his mouth. There is such a overwhelming aura that Lance stumbles, finding himself wanting to kneel though it is very obviously not aimed at him and what he get is only a tiny residue. There is someone at his side, keeping him stable.
The man seems shocked to find himself on the ground, trembling and wide eyes moving rapidly back and forth. He probably can't get his body to respond – Lance feels a little bit sorry for him, honestly. He looks terrified. Poor alphas, thinking they are the shit. Zarkon leans down until he can look him in the eye, snarling, voice deep and threatening.
“There is hundreds of people that could do your job. You're not special, I could have you replaced in a second, and I have been very kind to let you off the hook this far. The next time you talk about my omega like that, it will be the last thing you say. Do you understand?”
He nods, tears threatening to spill. Zarkon's canines are still showing and he is close, but then he does back up and straighten his back, taking control over his hormones again.
“So about that offer.”
Another guy steps up, glancing worriedly at but making no move to help the man on the ground that shakily and with heaving breaths try to stand up, eyes never once leaving the floor.
“We got 20K in from Columbia by tomorrow sometimes by noon, ready to be picked up. It's coming in a truck sometime in the afternoon together with groceries or some shit, I dunno. Cash only.”
“Excellent. I'll make sure someone is here to see to it.” Zarkon turn around and leaves with something like a smile on his lips, Lance and the woman following closely.
Lance's heart is pounding, but once outside a large hand comes up to his neck, bringing him in for a kiss against the temple.
“You did good. Let's find you something nice.”
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Since the first time, he had been allowed to come along with Zarkon when he meet up with people more often than not. It's all kinds of people from governors, spoiled teenagers and people that look like they stepped right out of a movie about gang violence. They all stare and blush at the sight of him, never expecting him to be there, and it makes him feel powerful in a way he have never experienced before. He knows a mated omega rarely smells very good to other alphas, but it doesn't seem to stop the wistful stares. Generally they only talk imports and exchanges and loans and stocks or something and Lance turns off his ears minutes into the conversation. He only keep his eyes open in the cases where he feels Zarkon starting to turn angry or upset, releasing a soft purr to help him keep his head clear.
Every now and then if they are meeting with someone that seems like a big shot Zarkon will bring him over anyway for a “break”, sitting him down on his lap. No one dares object when hands start running over his body, inside and outside his clothes. He feels disgusting as he tries to keep his breathing even and his moans down, people in the room ignoring what is happening but the pheromones in the air exposing they are not unaffected or unaware. It's not a secret Zarkon got a thing for showing him off, delighted at the people around them that tries their hardest not to watch, and even more so at the people that can't look away. It might be a tactic of some kind, distracting and showing off his power, how easily his omega gives in to his command. To Lance it's both mind numblingly pleasant the way his mates touch always are (he arches his back theatrically, show off his neck in the most submissive way he possibly can) and humiliating (in a lucid moment, noticing how many hungry eyes are watching him).
It's what comes after that that really get Lance going though. If he have done well, they will walk around whatever part of the city they ended up in, just people watching and window shopping while Lance breathes in the air and enjoy the sun on his face. Wherever they go there seems to be people of the pack somewhere close by, checking in now and then to Zarkon. Once they went to a park, bringing some impromptu store bought cookies and a guy literally jumped down from a tree to check in. Lance loved drama as much as the next kid, but that was a bit over the top. They often seem a little annoyed that Zarkon is out with him instead of working. When Lance's feet are too tired to walk any longer, they sit down at a cafe or restaurant and eat dinner.
Opening up a menu and not even checking the price before he order? THAT is a real rush he never thought he would get to experience. He enjoys a large variety of food from all parts of the world. Zarkon is surprisingly not at all picky about where they end up, be it a reservation at a five star place or some improvised stop at a cheap food chain. For his size, he is not a big eater. Lance on the other hand have definitely put on some weight from all his supervised meals, no longer looking quite as skeletal as he had been and closer to healthy.
By all official accounts they are already mated and courting is superflouous, even if it never happened to begin with. So it takes him as a surprise when he is taken to a jewelry store, fitted for a ring. It's white silver and adorned with several sapphires, and though not classic in it's design it's obvious what is symbolizes. He don't dare to look at the price tag. Zarkon gets a similar design in dark metal with amethysts (“just a personal preference”). His finger feels heavy with the ring on it. He's always aware it's there, starting up a new habit of playing with it whenever he gets nervous. It'd be impossible to misinterpret their relationship now, even for someone that just pass them on the street – he can tell people's eyes linger sometimes, looking all from envious to happy to weirded out. Granted, there is a large age gap between Zarkon and himself and many people probably think he's just a gold digger. He doesn't like it, being judged.
Zarkon is oddly in tune with his moods, immediately scaring off whoever looks at them wrong with a single glare and it's a little bit hilarious to see their surprise and embarrassment as they swiftly turn and hurries away.
He cuts his hair at an actual salon for the first time instead of at home with an electric hair trimmer or scissor in front of the mirror. He likes how it smell inside, like fancy hair spray and dye. Everyone is friendly and gossips about things and people he don't know much about. Zarkon is technically waiting for him in a chair by the door the entire time, but it feels a bit like doing something by himself for once.
He goes to the gym whenever Zarkon goes (a lot, unsurprisingly) and actually find it pretty relaxing to walk on the treadmill. He doesn't do a lot of lifts, because Zarkon is often doing that and it feels pretty nice to just zone out and not having to think. He is getting some muscle and stamina back because it's easier to keep up with everything and he isn't as tired when he gets home.
They even go clubbing with a bunch of pack members, places with WIP-lists and long queues than he would have never even thought of trying to get into but where he now can just walk right through the door. It feels a lot more like networking than any friendly pack bonding night out Lance have experienced prior, but he welcome it for the sake of getting out. He always loved dancing and he got a good rhythm in him, but he had rarely got a chance to actually express it since he was usually the one behind the bar taking orders. It's harder when his head is clear, but it rarely is for very long. The members of his pack is almost all alphas and they are watching him like hawks would a prey (terrifying). They aren't allowed to touch him, that much is clear, but they can still watch him and have no qualms in egging him on, even if it means buying him drink after drink until he isn't even aware of the eyes following him anymore. (No one ever asks for his age and he doesn't tell.)
He doesn't mind humoring them with this one thing, throwing them back until the world is bubbly and everything feels sort of okay.
They arrive at his old place of work one night, though he doesn't even realize until they're already seated inside. Sendak's leaves his job behind the counter to join them for a little while, and Lance wishes he could sink through the floor. The smirk on his lips tell him Sendak thinks he have gotten exactly what he deserved.
“Long time no see, Omega. How're your studies going?” Lance glares at him, knowing that Sendak is without a doubt fully aware of his situation and are just trying to be the massive dick that he is. Zarkon's hand tightens on his thigh, and he immediately snap his face into a carefully neutral expression, biting the inside of his cheek to remind himself. Show respect.
“I'm not doing that anymore.” His teeth are clenched, but it's an answer.
“Oh really? You always seemed so set on that whole equality thing. So what do you do nowadays?”
“I'm-” Lance is at a loss of words. What does he do? He... “I- I don't...” Sendak snickers.
“You don't? Who would've thought you of all people would end up as just being a trophy husband. Good for you, kid.” Lance bites his lip so hard he can taste the blood in his mouth.
“Thanks.”
It's humiliating, but he refuses to let it show and instead he throw back the two shots that was placed before him and stand up. Zarkon raises an eyebrow at him, but nods curtly when he moves his body towards the still rather empty dancefloor. He knows how to pull people in to party – after all, it had been part of his job. He forget about where he is, listens to the music. He moves his arms and feet to the rhythm, hips shaking and twisting theatrically. He is dancing for show right now, but also because he loves the big movements and there is actually enough space to move around for once. His hands running over his body, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, teasing. More people start to fill up the floor, and his dancing gets more about rolling his hips and moving his body in the place where he's standing. He keeps to the edge of the dance floor, but it doesn't stop people from trying to approach him, dancing close against his back, almost by never quite touching.
Zarkon is watching from his place at the table, smirking. Some of the guys from his pack have left for the dancefloor or somewhere else, and somehow he ends up with another drink in his hands and more bounce in his step until it feels like he's moving through the steps of a dream rather than making conscious decisions.
Zarkon brings him back to the table with the pack, where his every bashful drunken step is followed by a cheer. He might have given someone a lapdance? It's blurry. Zarkon mostly seem amused by it, pulling Lance into his lap and offering him another drink. Together with the exhaustion from dancing it's enough to make Lance to relax into him, even as hands keep moving teasingly over his skin. Zarkon's mouth is so close to his scentglands Lance can feel the warm breath and it's hard to focus on anything else. He moans as Zarkon press him down to grind against his ass. Zarkon licks a line up his neck, and Lance moves his head back to give him better access. He's used to the public touches by now. It's only when Zarkon start's palming him through his pants the warning signs start flashing, but they are quickly drowned out by the feeling of Zarkon sucking on his glands. There is people all around them but no one is paying them any mind, or at least no one makes a comment. Lance's heart is racing as Zarkon starts unbuttoning his pants, lifting him slightly and sliding them down his thighs together with his underwear, leaving him completely exposed if not for the table. He is faintly aware that something isn't right, that he have only had a few drinks yet he is barely aware of his surroundings, but he can't figure out how to voice it. He can feel Zarkon's hand under him as he struggle a little with his own zipper, and then suddenly he is pushed down again and Zarkon's dick is inside him and he gasps, head falling back on Zarkon's shoulder. It might hurt, he thinks, but everything feels a bit like a dream and it's hard to tell real from fake. Zarkon help lifting him up and down with his hands holding tightly on to Lance's thighs while sucking and licking at his scent glands until they are swollen and red. Faintly, Lance acknowledges some people are back at the table across from them, snickering to each other. Sendak is one of them, watching him with almost a frown on his face. Lance isn't aware enough to care about them seeing, just the feeling of hot skin against his skin.
“Ssh, let's show them what a good omega you've become for me.” Zarkon moves his hand up over his chest, shirt wrinkling and cold air hitting his exposed stomach. Lance gasps and close his eyes, too many impressions overwhelming his senses. He have no idea how much time have passed when suddenly Zarkon is pulling out, and Lance realizes he must've cum. Lance is so tired all of a sudden, just curling up to Zarkon's body, putting his face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the smell. He finally gives up the fight against the heaviness of his eyelids.
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No Zarkon doesn't mind showing Lance off, seems to thrive on it even. But when it comes to actual touch he is violently possessive. Lance figures out that all possessive pronouns and reminders of that he's Zarkon's omega, both around others and at home, makes him happy with him and he can use it to get his way. Sure, maybe it seems like a bit of an uneven exchange to get fucked until you can't stand just to get your favourite pasta for dinner, but hey, at least there is an exchange. Zarkon is without a doubt aware of what he's doing, but he can't mind that much because he doesn't say anything and always responds to Lance drunkenly chirping like a teenager in heat right away. Zarkon have even gotten something like a scolding (as much as anyone dares to scold Zarkon) from the grey haired woman, Haggar, for not doing his job properly and instead running off to Lance at any flick of the hip. Lance is embarrassed, but Zarkon seems to brush it off without a care.
It's true though, Zarkon spends a lot less time away than what he did at the start and more time either at home or out with Lance. While he does work on his laptop and take phone calls, it's probably different from actually going out for meetings.
Lance is just happy he can get out more. It's not always fun, but better than being locked up alone.
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It's a warm day out, Lance can tell. The houses around them is a little distorted, like there is waves in the air around them, the way it gets when it's especially hot out.
Zarkon is working on his laptop, the keyboard clattering as he writes on his without a doubt super important big shot e-mails that Lance have absolutely no interest in what so ever while some classical music is playing softly in the background. He sits on the floor next to Zarkon, leaning his head lazily against his thigh, purring contentedly at the warmth against his glands.
Looking at some pigeons flying past outside the window, a feeling start to tickle in the back of his head. Something had bugged him since getting here. Something wasn't... right, a voice whispered, but he couldn't figure out what. Was there even really anything that wasn't wrong with his situation? He keeps observing the pigeons, flying back and forward with thrash and sticks in their mouth. He wonders if they are nesting somewhere on the roof. It'd be cool to see baby pigeons.
Like water drops filling up a glass, he can feel the moment the tension break and it overflows. It's almost in desperation he asks;
“What date is it?” Zarkon turn his head to look displeased at him for speaking up in the middle of his work, and he adds “My alpha” quickly, continuing to purr quietly hoping to be forgiven. Zarkon's eyes twitch just a little, but he gives in and turns back to his work.
“It's the 23rd of June.”
June. June. Almost July. When was it that Zarkon brought him here? September last year? That's nine months. His heat should've – his hand reflexively grabs onto his stomach. No. No way. He'd known, right? Right. Sure it did seem odd that he could just go on having unprotected sex for months with absolutely no repercussions but- No. No way. He spins a bit in place, trying to make out his reflection in the glass without being obvious about it. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.